The Daily Prophet is a typical newsroom, well, at least the excitement and activity can be labeled typical. Wizards and witches work madly scribbling notes, sending owls (and receiving the occasional howler), and checking facts. Consequently the room isn’t what anyone would label quiet. Rows and rows of desks line the room with pseudo walls in between each. A large maple receptionist desk sits in the front, surrounded by filing cabinets, yet there is no receptionist–just Martin Rathe standing impatiently With the second installment of the Thomas Porter chronicles, Martin has found himself here at the Daily Prophet with a copy of said article in hand. He’s already spoken to the receptionist, but she promptly disappeared following his inquiry about Thomas Porter, and has yet to return. That was ten minutes ago. Biting his lower lip, the Auror is unsure whether he’ll find any answers in this hullabaloo.

“Caroline, Car–” Fred Wexler protests as he’s ushered into the reception area where Martin waits. “I’m not the person – no, no,” he hisses as he comes to a stop in front of Martin. “Hello, there,” he states loudly, pushing his hand out to shake Martin’s. “I hear you’re… inquiring about something? Or someone?” Fred looks sideways at the receptionist who seems to be passively ignoring him while the look on his face doesn’t get any clearer as to what’s going on. “Do you need something from me?”

Connecting to the handshake, he introduces himself, “I’m Martin Rathe. I’m an Auror with the Ministry of Magic.” He side-glances the receptionist and then Fred. “I just–” he pauses, and hands the article to Fred. “I assume you’ve read this, right? I have some questions.” Martin presses his lips together into a thin straight line.

Taking the article and glancing it over, Fred Wexler stutters for a moment then nods. “Of course. It was in our paper, and I do try to read as much as possible. What’s the problem?” He pauses, still looking puzzled. “Nothing seems amiss to me, though I’m sure it made a few people a bit angry.” Fred chuckles a bit then reaches out to hand the article back to Martin. “Is there something wrong with it?”

Accepting the article back and tucking it in his suit pocket, Martin tilts his head and considers why he’s curious about its origin, “Can I be frank, Mister–” frowning, Martin realizes he doesn’t know Fred’s name, but chooses to move on. “This particular author has obviously made some enemies. Further than that, his insights could be beneficial to our department.” He crosses his arms over his chest and decides to leave it at this for now.

“Wexler – Fred Wexler,” answers with a bit of a laugh, realizing that he’s forgotten to introduce himself in his own confusion. “Well, I’m sure someone knows where or who he is. Personally, I’ve never heard of the man before. I’m pretty sure I’ve never had a drink with him either.” Fred pauses for a moment in thought. “You know, come to think of it, this might be an external submission. I’m not totally sure, I didn’t handle it myself.”

“Does the Daily Prophet receive many external submissions?” Martin inquires further as he smooths his robes. “Do you know who handled this external submission? And who typically finds freelancers?” Tilting his head he realizes he’s asking many questions. “Is there a place we can sit down?”

“Certainly. Let’s go, er…” Fred pauses. “My office?” he suggests, glancing at the receptionist who is looking shockingly alert as she stares at her desk, then begins to walk slowly back toward his office. “We receive quite a few submissions, though I would say that only about a tenth of them actually get publishes. There are a lot of aspiring writers out there who, erm… Well.” He stops short as a cart carrying stacks of parchment comes by without anyone pushing it, then continues on down the corridor until he comes to a door with his own name on it. “I don’t, off-hand, know who handled this article. You could send an owl to my editor, and I’ll try to see that he responds.” Fred opens the door to let Martin go in first. “As far as finding freelancers, we don’t typically need to unless someone’s looking for a particular style of column. We get enough unsolicited submissions without seeking out others.”

Martin Rathe follows Fred down the winding halls towards his office and he stifles a chuckle as Fred mentions the number of aspiring writers in the world. Stepping into the office he nods, “Do you think it’s very likely the editor knows much about this bloke? Or… is it possible it’s just a crazed wizard who can write?” He frowns momentarily and then adds, “I hope he wasn’t crazy enough to use his own name…”

“If he’s a rookie, I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s his real name.” Fred Wexler takes a seat behind his desk and leans back a bit, spinning his chair back and forth idly. “It’d take a real dummy to use his real name on something like that unless he has protection of some kind. I’m not sure if my editor knows who it is or not, but if he doesn’t he can probably help you find who handled the submission.” Fred pauses and then abruptly leans forward. “So, is this hot news at the Ministry, then? My dad won’t tell me anything. Anything you can tell us for follow-up? You wouldn’t believe the press this one has gotten!”

“I wouldn’t call it hot news, but Thomas Porter is certainly a person of interest. His understanding of the inner workings of crime alone are suspect,” Martin strokes his chin. “Do you think he’s a lunatic? I mean, you’ve probably read enough freelance work to know the difference between a crazed man who made some lucky guesses and legitimate writing.” Narrowing his eyes he probes, “Have any others been poking around Porter’s identity?”

“Not with me, but as you can imagine, I’m usually more occupied with trying to meet my deadlines than with taking questions.” Fred laughs rather loudly and gestures to the mess that covers most of his desk. “As for him being a lunatic, well, his writing is sound, and it certainly sounds convincing. I’ve never met a lunatic that was this convincing myself.” He shrugs vaguely. “I’m sorry I’m not of more assistance, Mr. Martin. I’m as much in the dark about this man as you are, to be perfectly honest. But you’ve got to give me a break if you find anything – this would make a killer story if he turns out to be somebody important.” A pause. “Or someone crazy! I would take that, too.” He laughs loudly again.

“Keep me in the loop about what you know and I will pass along any newsworthy information I find,” Martin smirks and offers a chuckle of his own. “Well, hopefully if he’s of sound mind we’ll find him before anyone else does… and even if he isn’t…” He shrugs. “Regardless, for his own sake I hope we can find him. Although, there’s selfish motives in there as well. If he’s an insider, I could really use some of that information.” He walks towards the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Alright, alright,” Fred concedes, putting up his hands and chuckling. “I’ll let you know if I find anything out. Don’t forget your promise!” Fred tells him and reaches out his hand for a final handshake before turning back to his desk, rifling through his immense mess to find something.

Henrietta Blume is sitting on one of the leather seats in the compartment closest to the window. She turns to Frederick, seated on her right, and says, “So, where are we going again? I don’t think I heard you the first time.”

Frederick Wexler casually slips his arm around Henrietta’s waist. “We’re going swimming!” he answers her gleefully. “In Brighton. I hear they’ve got some good bathing areas.” He pauses. “I hope they do. Otherwise, I’m not sure what I’ll do with these.” He brandishes a swimsuit for each of them, one in a rather bright shade of purple for her, and a matching one — minus ruffle — for himself in dark blue. “It just seemed like the right thing to do this weekend.” He beams down at her proudly. Of course she’ll like it! All his ideas are good! … aren’t they?

Henrietta Blume snuggles against Freddie as he slips his arm around her waist. “Are we really going swimming? It’s been ages since I’ve been swimming. Mum was always afraid of the water. Thought we would drown or something.” As he pulls out the swimsuits, she giggles with glee, exclaiming, “Oh, they are so cute. How did you know that I love purple? This is going to be such a fun weekend! I can’t wait until we get there.” She lays her head against his shoulder and looks out the window at the passing countryside.

“Of course I knew you love purple, darling!” Freddie fibs a little and cuddles her close. God, he’s lucky. He gazes out the window with her. “Hey, isn’t that … oh, whose house is that.” He pauses in thought, apparently at a loss for the real name of the person who belongs to said cottage. “We’ll tell your mum after we get back that you managed to go swimming and didn’t even drown.” He winks down at her playfully. Frederick Wexler can’t help but think that he must be the luckiest guy in the world.

Henrietta Blume cuddles closer to him and says, “Oh, how could I forget that you already knew that? I’m so forgetful sometimes.” Looking at the house he pointed out, she replies, “Oh, that is a very pretty house, whoever’s it is. I think I’d love living there. Everything is so beautiful in the country.” Giggling at the comment about her mother, she says, “I think she might bap you upside the head for teasing her about it. She’s a worrier; it comes with the trade I suppose.”

Frederick Wexler hmms a moment. “I suppose it is. Mum is always worrying about Eva.” He pauses. “Of course, Eva gives her reason to worry.” He chuckles and kisses Henri’s temple discreetly, thankful that the train isn’t so packed that they have to share a compartment. At least not for now. “Oh! I’ve got it! It’s the Alden’s house! You remember Celeste Alden?” He chuckles. Ah, his memory isn’t so bad as all that after all.

“Oh, Eva. She’s quite a character. I like her, though. Maybe we could pay her a visit after our swimming excursion.” Henrietta blushes a little as he kisses her and looks around quickly, just to make sure they are alone. “You know, I still freak out every time you do that. I half expect some old woman to pop up and shake her finger at us.” She giggles a little at her own paranoia. “Hm, Celeste Alden… the name sounds slightly familiar. Was she in our year?”

Frederick Wexler nods. “She was in Gryffindor, though. Rather shy girl, for a Gryffindor. I never did understand that. I thought all Gryffindors were supposed to be the brave folks who were always up for an adventure. She never was. Eva seemed to frigthen her.” He chuckles and leans down close to her ear. “You really needn’t worry about that. I wouldn’t do it to where we’d get into trouble.” A pause. “At least, not again. I learned that after that time at the Opera.” He suppresses a bit of a snicker-slash-giggle and coughs to compose himself again. The train comes to a stop and he looks around happily, standing up. He takes hold of Henrietta’s hand and looks around, clutching the swimwear tightly, as if they’re the most important things he’s had in a long time. He leads her off of the train into the unusually bright, sunny sky in Brighton. Ah, a perfect day.

“Hmm, yes, I think I remember her a little. But, I was rather shy at Hogwarts too, so we never really crossed paths.” Henrietta shrugs a bit at the comment about Gryffindors. She blushes uncontrollably as he whispers in her ear. “Oh, please don’t bring up the Opera; I thought I would never be able to show my face in public again. And you weren’t any help,” she adds playfully, punching him gently in the arm. “Oh, look, we’re here.” She stands up and takes his hand, following him off the train. “It’s such a pretty day. Perfect for swimming.”

Nodding, he steps out into the broad sunshine amids all the other wizards, in various states of dress — some in their swimming suits, and some still in robes, others looking decidedly outlandish in their muggle gear. Frederick Wexler chuckles and looks around. “Oh, look, some dressing tents,” he comments and starts strolling over there. By now, he’s learned not to walk too quickly so as not to leave her behind. He separates the suits as they reach the tents and hands the purple one to Henrietta. “See you in a few moments,” he tells her and glances around. Alright, no dangerous antics this time.

Henrietta Blume takes her suit from Fredderick, saying, “Okay then, I’ll see you shortly.” She gives him a quick smile before heading into the nearest dressing tent and closing the curtain behind her. She emerges a few minutes later, now wearing her purple suit. “Tada!”

Frederick Wexler goes into his own tent — the green one, wahoo — and puts on his suit anxiously. In the pocket, in the pocket, in the pocket. He breathes in deeply and emerges as he sees Henrietta coming out. He has his robes draped over his arm, and drops them with glee, holding her hand over her head to twirl her around. “It’s a lovely color on you,” He tells her, absolutely beaming. “Shall we go into the water?” The waves wash up on the shore gently, sparkling in the bright sunshine. The water is a grayish blue, and Freddie is quite thrilled to get to romp in it.

Henrietta Blume twirls around for him, and then says, “Oh, I love it so much. It’s just so cute. And look, it even has this cute little pocket. I could store something important in there.” She points to the pocket, but doesn’t actually look in it. To his question, she responds, “Yes, let’s get in the water. I hope it’s cool; all this changing and twirling has made me rather hot.” She takes his hand and pulls him towards the water. “Alright, in we go!”

Frederick Wexler reaches out with one of his other hands and flips her ruffle. “That’s awfully cute,” he tells her, a little smirk on his face, willing her to put her hand into her pocket. After all, he isn’t sure how well such a small article will stay in said pocket. Ah, well. He won’t stress about it. “I wonder if you could put a charm on the pocket to prevent things from falling out.” A pause. “After all, it doesn’t look very secure.” He tries not to look anxious or at all like he’s anticipating something.

Henrietta Blume looks again toward her pocket. “Hmm, I don’t know. I’m sure it’s fine. See, look, it’s very tight… hmm, what is this?” As she was pulling at the pocket to demonstrate it’s effectiveness, she noticed a bump in pocket and started pulling it out. “Hmm, it feels round… Oh, my, it’s ring! Where did you buy this swimsuit, Freddie, it has a ring in it!” She gives him a playful look, and then it clicks. “Oh, my, is this what I think it is?”

Frederick Wexler bites his lip, looking down at her. “It could be?” he answers, his voice cracking a bit, sounding rather hopeful. Damnit, he told himself he would be cool about this! He clears his throat and shifts his weight from one foot to the other, scratching his head with his free hand, still clutching hers, perhaps a bit tighter than necessary.

Henrietta Blume squeels with excitement. “Oh, Freddie! Yes, of course I’ll marry you! Oh, wait, was I supposed to let you ask first? I just couldn’t wait. Oh, Freddie!” She wraps her arms around him and gives him a huge hug. “Oh, this ring is just soo beautiful. I’m so happy. We’re getting married!”

Frederick Wexler beams with absolute joy and hoists her up. He spins around in a circle, and then again before setting her down. “You have just made me the happiest person who ever lived,” he whispers. He detatches himself from her and takes the ring, sliding it slowly onto her finger. “Practice for later,” he tells her with a wide grin. “Now, when we go tell your mother that you didn’t drown, we can tell her something else, too.” He smiles a genuine smile, full of excitement. And, though he has tried to contain himself, he finds that he just can’t, and leans down, planting his lips squarely on hers.

Henrietta says, “Oh, I think we’re tied for happiest person ever.” Henrietta whispers back at him. As he slides the ring on her finger, she giggle just a little. “Oh, this is so wonderful. I love you so much! I wish we could get married right now.” At the mention of her mother, she adds, “Oh, yes, we will definitely have something else to tell her. She will be so happy; she’s been so afraid that the twins would both be married before me, which would be a trajedy, I’m sure.” Although she wasn’t expecting it, she happily returns his kiss.”

Frederick Wexler beams. “I love you so so much,” he tells her gleefully. “I’m going to marry this woman!” he shouts for all to hear. He really is quite shameless. Some weak applause echoes and he kisses her cheek. “Let’s go swimming.” He practically skips towards the water, Henrietta’s hand grasped, once again, in his own. The glitter on her left hand, though, makes him puff up with joy as he splashes ankle deep into the chilly water.

Henrietta Blume runs alongside him to the water. “Oh, somehow swimming has never seemed more wonderful.” She kicks her feet up a bit, trying to splash him. “You’re such a trickster, putting it in my pocket. You never can do anything the average way, can you?” She flashes him a teasing smile, and then pulls him deeper into the water.

“What fun is that?” he asks her, grinning. No, Frederick is not one for usual ploys. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to spit the words out; he was nervous enough as it were! He lets out a giggle of glee, despite himself, and starts splashing her back. “Oh, you’ll get it for that, Miss Blume!” he teases and runs — to the best of his ability — towards her, throwing his arms around her shoulders and trying to pull her down under the water with him.

Henrietta Blume runs away from his as she sees him coming towards her, but seeing as she is a terrible runner, it is inevitable that she is eventually pulled down under with him. Emerging from underwater, she teasingly says, “Oh, Mr. Wexler, how could you ever have pulled a lady under water. Tsk tsk.” She continues splashing him and giggling at the same time. “Oh, look at your hair, it’s all so messy now. Let me fix it for you,” she teases as she messes around with his hair, making it worse than before.

Frederick Wexler snickers. “Well, I wouldn’t pull just any lady under water with me, you see. It has to be a special lady.” He grins and almost squacks as she starts pushing his hair around. “Let me fix yours, then, darling.” He starts taking the wet auburn locks and pulling them into her face. Once her face is covered, he reaches down and separates it, so that her nose and eyes just barely poke out. “Now, that’s lovely.” Of course, his is nothing to speak very highly of right now either, sticking half up and threatening to fall into his own face.

Henrietta Blume giggles. “Well, I supposed I should feel special for being pulled underwater, but really I just feel wet.” She squeels as he puts her hair in her face, and then flashes him a charming smile once his masterpiece is complete. “Oh, yes, I feel quite lovely. But nothing can compare to the beautiful creature that you are right now.”

Frederick Wexler smirks. “Oh, I bet.” He pauses. “Man, this water is a lot colder than I thought it would be.” He breaks into laughter and pushes her hair back out of her face. “There. Much better.” Glancing around, he decides to flop onto his back, creating a rather large splash. He swims rather akwardly on his back, being only a moderate swimmer. “Let’s go deeper!” he exclaims with some excitement, the blue of his suit looking actually bright against the dull gray-blue of the water.

Henrietta Blume turns away as she is splashed by his flop. At his suggestion to go deeper, she looks anxiously at the waves. “Are you sure we should go deeper? I mean, it really is quite lovely right here. Actually, you know, I’m getting rather tired. Perhaps a little nap on the beach?”

Frederick Wexler swims back over to her, on his back. This puts him about waist level, and he finds himself looking up at her. “We could nap if you really want to, darling,” He tells her and plants his feet on the ground, standing up. “You’re really sleepy?” He mentally curses for not having brought an umbrella of some sort. No need to make her smooth skin blemished by a sunburn, after all!

Henrietta Blume nods. “Maybe a little nap, and then we can tackle the deeper water a little later. All this excitement has tired me out.” She takes his hand and gives it a big squeeze. “But it is a good tired. A happy tired.” She smiles at him starts heading back toward the beach. “Race you back!”

“How about this? We’ll get dressed, and nap on the train, and then we can tell our families the good news.” He smiles, and then gasps as she’s already running towards the beach. He makes his way through the water and catches up to her, swinging her up in his arms. “Sound good?” Frederick asks, a bit out of breath, and chuckling, as he carries her towards the tents where their clothes are neatly folded still.

Henrietta Blume giggles as he swings her into his arms and replies, “Yes, that sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to get home and tell everyone!” She laughs at him as he carries her to the beach, teasing, “Having trouble breathing there? Perhaps you should put me down. Wouldn’t want to wear you out before the wedding planning even begins.”

Frederick Wexler chuckles. “That’s not going to happen, darling, don’t worry.” He pauses. “I don’t think you could ever tire me out.” He kisses her cheek affectionately and puts her down on the boardwalk in front of the tents. “I’m glad towels are provided,” he chuckles, referring to both of their wet beings. He scoops up his clothes carefully and disappears into his own tent. Ah, he’s an engaged man!

Henrietta Blume giggles at him, replying, “Oh, just you wait. I can become very tiresome.” She disappears into her tent and changes back into her wizarding clothes. When she returns, she says, “I don’t think I’ll ever wear this suit again. I want to keep in in a safe place, with a sign nearby that says, ‘The Engagement Suit’. I just can’t believe it’s really happened. We’re engaged, Freddie, we’re engaged!”

Frederick Wexler can’t help but grin down at the woman and scoop her up in a big hug. “I can’t believe it. Oh, I’m so happy!” He beams at her and takes her hand in his own tenderly, letting his arm rub against hers. He can’t stand to be far from her right now. “To the train!” he tells her, and leads her in that direction. Being the middle of the day, and quite the height of touristy fun, the train is almost entirely empty. He finds a compartment that looks comfy, and heads into it, drawing the shades halfway to block the glare of the sun. He has procured a bag from the pocket of his robe and into it go their suits, so as not to soil anything with the wet fabric. “I’ll never forget today,” he whispers. “Never.”

Henrietta Blume follows him onto the train. “Neither will I,” she whispers back. “Never.” She walks over to one of the comfortable chairs and sits down and gestures for him to sit next to her. “Okay, naptime.”

Frederick Wexler sits as he is directed and draws his arms around her, leaning against the back of the seat comfortably. The both of them smell of salt water, but this doesn’t bother him in the least as he starts to doze sleepily, his cheek resting atop her head.